Ice Forms Over
by Sanqhian
Summary: Martin doesn't know why it got this bad. He needs help, but will he ask for it before life gets too hard...?[slash]
1. Intro

**Title:** Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.

**Note: **This will be similar to the current season in the beginning. But will change from there.

**POV: **Martin

**

* * *

Intro**

The doors open. The night is shattered by the sounds of gunfire and lit by the blasts. There's no time to duck to avoid the flying bullets. I feel the fire burning in my body as I'm hit. My only concern is for Danny sitting next to me. Does he manage to avoid the flying pieces of metal? Do they miss him? I slip out of time and lose consciousness.

Next I know Danny is pulling me from the car, swearing unhappily. His voice is filled with worry and I wonder what's wrong with him. I'm lying on the wet pavement. Danny is staring down at me. The color has drained from his face. Tears cloud his eyes. The numbness of the pain begins to wash away in the blood that's soaking into my shirt. Am I dying?

"Stay with me, Martin," Danny pleads. I feel the pressure he applies to the wound in my skin. He brings his phone out. "I need a bus right now. My partner has been shot."

The words ring in my ears. I'm sorry Martin. I feel myself slipping away. The cold is creeping in. The last few years flash by. The first day with the Missing Persons Squad. They didn't want to accept me at first. They all believe that my father pulled some strings. I wanted them to see me. The real me. My ill-fated love with Samantha. Will she miss me when I'm gone? Will she regret how things ended between us? I see Jack worrying over Vivian even as his own life is falling apart. Now he'll have to deal with me dying. Sometimes life isn't fair.

My gaze falls on Danny. My best friend. My buddy. How awful it must be to watch your friend as they lay, dying on the cold street. This isn't right. He shouldn't have to go through this. I close my eyes to avoid looking at him. The pain in his face is too much to bear.

"Martin?" I hear him call my name softly. "Open your eyes, Martin. Please."

I can't take the sorrow in his voice. It tears my soul apart inside. The beating of my heart fills me ears. Every single beat sounds like a roar of thunder. Why would they do this? Why open fire on two innocent people? If they really wanted to kill the piece of trash in our backseat, I would have let them. Getting in trouble with my boss would be better than this. Anything would be better than this burning sensation filling my body.

Danny touches my cheek. His hand is wet and sticky. I can smell the coppery blood. "Martin, please, open your eyes. You can't die. Not here. Come on, Martin."

I open my eyes to look upon him. His eyes are clouded with worry. There are tears on his cheeks. He's crying for me? I never thought someone would cry for me as my life slipped away. I can't stand to look at his shirt; it's covered in my blood. Or is it his blood?

"There's….blood….on…your shirt," I croak out.

"I'm fine, Martin. I'm more worried about you."

I do my best to smile. "That's good."

He looks down the street over his shoulder. "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

I know that my heart is slowing down. The slower it beats the less blood I'll lose. A sharp stab of pain seizes my chest and I can't help gasping for air. I'm going to die. What a way to go, Martin Fitzgerald, dying on the damp pavement of a city street. As much as I don't want to die alone I wish for Danny to leave. He doesn't need to be here. Not for this.

"Martin? Hang on, buddy."

The sound of sirens pierce my ears. The ambulance is finally on its way. "I feel cold," I whisper. There's darkness looming on the edge of my conciousness. I close my eyes as my body goes numb. So this is how it feels to die.

"Martin? Martin?"


	2. Between the Cracks

**Title:** Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.

**Note: **This will be similar to the current season in the beginning. But will change from there.

**POV: **Danny

**

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Chapter One: Between the Cracks**

"Martin?" I take the chance to shake his shoulder. He doesn't open his eyes. "Wake up, damn it!"

The screech of tires on the wet pavement and the blaring sirens signal the arriving ambulance. Don't let them be too late. With a trembling hand I reach for Martin's wrist. The pulse is so faint that I don't feel it at first. He's losing too much blood. I apply more pressure to the wound as the ambulance stops nearby. The paramedics rush out. More cars come flying around the bend in the road. I know they belong to the FBI. How is Jack going to react when he sees Martin lying on the ground?

The paramedics, with their bags, kneel on the pavement. "His pulse is faint. You can't let him die. Not here and not like this, you hear me?"

"Sir, you need to move so we can do our job," one of the guys says.

I'm afraid to remove my hand from the still bleeding wound. The medic closest to me gently moves my hand away. I watch as they rip open his shirt to check the wounds. There's still so much blood. I climb to my feet and back away. The black cars stop a distance away. I can hear the distinct sound of Jack's dress shoes on the pavement.

"Dan-"

"He's flat-lining," I hear a medic say.

"No," I whisper. I run back to his side. "You can't die on me, Martin. You hear me? There's too much left to do." I pull on his shirt; why, I'm not really sure.

A pair of strong arms wraps around my waist and pulls me to my feet. I fight to get back to Martin. "Danny," Jack yells in my ear. "Danny, you have to let them do their job."

I continue to fight against Jack. He gets mad as he drags me away from Martin. As a last ditch effort he throws me into his car. My back hits the solid metal object with a slight thump. Jack's hand rests on his gun, still in its holster. I put my hands up in defeat. Out of the corner of my eye I see the medics trying to resuscitate Martin. Jack purposely repositions himself, blocking the scene from my view.

"Are you okay, Danny?" He asks me softly.

"Martin…"

He takes a step closer to me. "Don't think about him. I need to know if you're okay. You're bleeding."

I look down at my shirt. It's stained with blood. My hands are covered in the sticky red liquid. "Martin's…"

Jack touches my shoulder. I hadn't noticed that he'd moved closer. "You're in shock, Danny. There's another ambulance on the way. I'm going to have them check you over. You may need to go to the hospital."

"No," I shake my head. I don't want to leave Martin.

"You have a head wound," he says touching the cut above my eye. The pain makes me flinch. "Never take a head wound lightly, Danny. Especially in our line of work, and especially when you've just been in a shoot out."

"I'll go," I tell him. He doesn't need to know that I'll make a pit-stop while I'm there. I can still see Martin. The doctors will have to give me the information I want. If they refuse, I'll just flash my badge. It works every time. People are willing to talk to the FBI to stay out of trouble.

The sound of the ambulance doors closing drags me back to the damp night. Standing straight I glance over Jack's shoulder. Martin is gone. The ambulance pulls away with its sirens screaming into the night. The lights slice through the dark. Left behind on the pavement are a few bloody towels. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Martin isn't going to make it. There's more blood on the pavement than there probably is in his body.

"Danny, I need you to answer a few questions for me. Do you think you can do that?"

The night gets foggy. Jack grabs me as I slump against the car. The world around me spins faster than my eyes can keep up with so I close them. Another pair of hands grabs my left arm. Jack says something but his voice is muffled. I try to put a hand to my head; unsuccessfully. For the next few seconds I'm half-dragged to my left. Someone helps me to sit on cold metal. Just as quickly as the dizzy spell hits me it leaves. When I open my eyes a medic shines a tiny flashlight into them. I brush his hand away.

"He's trying to help you," Jack says. "Let him do his job."

"I'm fine, nothing but a dizzy spell. My adrenaline rush wore off. Big deal," I comment. The medic continues to do his job even though I protest.

"Danny, I need you to answer a few questions. You know how important this can be."

"Go ask the other guy. Martin got shot because of him. We shouldn't have been transporting that criminal. The cops should've done it, or someone else."

Jack crosses his arms. "Asking him is going to be a little hard. He died instantly. Shot in the head."

"Good."

The medic chooses this time to interrupt us. "I'm going to have to take him to the hospital," he instructs Jack.

Jack nods. "Of course, but I want to talk to him first. How about five minutes?" The medic nods and disappears to who-knows-where. Jack turns his attention back to me. "Look, I know you're concerned about Martin, I am too. But I can't help him if I don't know what the hell happened."

"'I can't help him'? Don't you mean 'we'"? I ask.

"No, I meant what I said. You will be going to the hospital. Sam and Vivian can help me out. Now tell me what happened." He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. A gesture I had done so many times before. Never before had I been on the other side of the crime. I always did the interviewing. Not the answering.

"We were taking Adisa Teno to lock-up. Martin stopped at a red light behind a white van." I hesitate as the whole scene plays out in my mind. Every shot fired; all the blood. "The back doors to the van swung open and someone started shooting. Martin did his best to move our car. But I guess he got hit. I ducked. Everything else just happened so fast."

Jack looks up from his notebook. "Did you manage to shoot anyone in the van?"

"I tried. They were too fast. Martin…"

"How long was Martin unconscious before the paramedics got here?"

"Anywhere between one to five minutes. I wasn't keeping count. I was busy trying to stop the bleeding."

Jack returns the little notebook to his pocket as the medic returns. The two of them usher me into the ambulance. Before the doors close I see a large black Cadillac roll up to the scene. Out steps Martin's dad. For once I'm glad that I'm being ushered off to the hospital. Jack is in for a world of hell. Martin's father, the head of the FBI, will not be happy to find out that his son got shot.

I lay back on the stretcher as the ambulance makes its way to the hospital. The lights are on but not the sirens. The ride goes quietly and smoothly. At the hospital the doctor checks me over. Every five minutes I ask him about Martin. He ignores me. Finally he finishes his tests. I put my suit jacket back on.

"I would like you to spend the night for observation," the doctor says.

"And I'd like to be a millionaire. We can't all get what we want," I remark.

"I can't stop you from leaving. Since you want to go home make sure you get a friend to spend the night with you. They'll need to wake you up every hour," he explains.

"I'll do that," I mumble as I leave the room.

Have a friend spend the night? What friend could spend the night? Three of my friends are busy working a scene and the other one is fighting for his life. The sound of hasty footsteps behind me makes me turn around. The doctor who just examined me waves at me. There's a clipboard in his hands.

"What?" I ask.

"The friend you were asking about, I got his file," he says. I don't have the strength to ask the only question I want answered. The doctor understands. He sees this every day. "He's in surgery right now and in critical condition."

"Thank you," is all I say to him.

Martin is in critical condition. The words play over and over in my mind as I make my way to the bathroom. Once inside I lock the door behind me. I want to be alone. Probably not the best idea but who cares? My reflection glares back at me when I stand in front of the mirror. The cut above my eye is covered with a white bandage. My shirt is filthy and covered in with blood. As are my hands. I hold my hands in front of my face. The skin underneath is barely noticeable. My hands are covered in my best friend's blood. I turn the hot water on in the nearest sink. Hot water courses over my hands, cleaning away the blood. But not cleaning away the image of Martin, lying on the pavement, dying.


	3. Falling Towards the Sky

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Martin

**

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Chapter Two: Falling Towards the Sky**

I close my eyes. The pain in my body is too much. My very soul feels like it's on fire. Being shot completely sucks. Why am I the one to suffer? I was just doing my job. I was ordered to move that prisoner. Why did they have to shoot me? They could have just shot the pain in the ass in the back seat. I wouldn't have cared. I still don't care if he dies.

The ceiling of the hospital room is stark white. Is it really the ceiling or is it heaven? Am I dead? The beeping sound of some miscellaneous machine calls my attention to my left. I'm alive. I'm so alive. I close my eyes as the joy hits me full force. A sharp pain cruises up my spin and I clench my teeth. The joy of being alive is quickly washed away.

"Hey, you're awake," a soft voice says.

"My pain medicine is wearing off," I whisper. My voice is raspy from not being used.

"I'll call for a nurse. Where's that little red button thing…"

A hand brushes against mine before the fingers intertwine with mine. My eyes fall on Danny. There's an almost healed cut over his eye. He gives me a soft smile. But I can read the worry in his eyes. The sorrow that lies deep within. There is something else hidden behind the sorrow and worry but I can't quite make out what it is. Before I get the chance to ask him what it is the nurse interrupts us. We both watch as she inserts a needle into the IV drip. Almost instantly the medicine takes effect. The pain moves down my body and disappears completely; for the time being anyway.

When she leaves Danny squeezes my hand. "Is the pain gone now?"

"Yes, thank you." My voice sounds a fraction better. "How long have I been here?"

"It's been about a week now. I was beginning to think that you would never wake up."

A week? I wonder have everyone has been holding up. This is the last thing Jack needed. His life has been shitty since his wife decided to move and leave him alone. I still can't believe that she took their daughters with her, turning them against Jack. And Vivian, she's been having problems with her heart. She needs to worry about spending time with her family. She needs to take care of herself. The sudden urge to cry almost takes me over. I fucked up. Everything is messed up and it's my fault. If only I hadn't been shot.

"What's on your mind, Martin?"

"How bad was it?" I ask. "I remember lying on the pavement with you calling my name. Aside from that, every other moment is like a hole. It's just not there for me to remember it."

A dark cloud passes over Danny's eyes. The memories must haunt him. "You lost a shit load of blood. They didn't think you would make it to the hospital, never mind surviving the surgery. Guess you showed them just how strong you are."

The next question pops up out of the middle of nowhere. "My father, how is he?"

Danny chews his bottom lip before answering. "He lit into Jack at the crime scene, after they had taken you away. That was it. No one has seen him since. He blamed Jack for this, you know."

I shake my head. "That's typical. He was pissed and needed a way to vent. He deals better when he blames someone else. He doesn't want to think bad things can happen. He's a very unstable person."

Danny's watch beeps. He gives it a quick glance. "I have to go. Jack doesn't know I stopped by. I'm supposed to be looking for a missing drug dealer. Why the hell I should bother…"

A side effect of the medicine is making me drowsy. I feel myself slipping away as Danny continues to ramble on. His hand slips from mine. It's the last thing I feel before floating away on a soft white cloud of slumber. My dreams are vivid and filled with blood. Over and over the echo of a gun fills the empty space of darkness. My dream self screams as a bullet rips through my flesh. A voice calls my name. There's urgency in it. Another bullet hits me. The force knocks me back. Then the fatal shot is made. I feel myself floating away into oblivion as someone continues to scream my name.

I feel the bed beneath me. Once again back in the hospital. A presence off to my right gives me an odd sense of comfort. A hand takes mine. The memory of the warmth and the skin against mine tells me that it's Danny.

"Are you sleeping, Martin?" A gentle squeeze to my hand brings even more comfort. For some reason I pretend to sleep. Something tells me that Danny wants it that way. Maybe it has to do with what I saw in his eyes before.

"Good, I need to talk to you. You're probably wondering why I want you to be asleep while I'm talking. It's simple really; I don't want you to look at me. Your eyes give away so much about the thoughts running through your mind. After everything that has happened, I feel the need to just talk. To tell you what has been on my mind.

"The day you got shot a whole new world opened up to me. I thought I was going to lose you forever. There has been this feeling that I've been hiding from the world for fear of rejection. I think I've been hiding it from myself too." I can sense his smile. "We can't hide for long. The feelings force themselves out and we have to deal with them. So I'm dealing."

My curiosity is piqued but I concentrate on faking to sleep.

"Do you remember how happy I was when I saw you with Samantha? That was a false happiness. I was afraid that I would lose you. That our friendship would never be the same. At least, that's what I thought it was. Guess I was wrong. I love you, Martin. Not the way a friend does, and not like family. I love you in ways I probably shouldn't. No one ever wants an office romance. They say it interferes with business. How can they expect people to avoid them? I've been working with you for years. The feelings have been growing.

"I thought love was a myth, Martin. Then I got to know you. There's so much telling me that my love for you is wrong. And yet, every fiber of my body wants you, and the body wants what it wants." He lets his fingers slip away from mine. "You'll never know though. I'm afraid of driving you away. If I can't have you as my lover, I'll keep you as my friend."

Is that the soft touch of his lips on my cheek or the gentle touch of his hand? The sound of his footsteps fades as he leaves me behind. I open my eyes to watch his back. My best friend has fallen in love with me. How am I supposed to deal with it? And what is this feeling growing inside of me?


	4. Answer me Tomorrow

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Danny

**

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Chapter Three: Answer Me Tomorrow**

_Some weeks later…_

The office is busy early in the morning. Vivian sits at her desk looking over a piece of paper on her desk. Elena leans over her shoulder, talking, and pointing to something on that same piece of paper. Jack is in his office and already on the phone. Work never stops. People are always going missing and we always have work to do. It is New York after all.

Sam breezes into the office. Her blond hair is up in its trademark ponytail. She's dressed in navy blue from head to toe. It's been some time since the ambush. Since that day Samantha has been oddly quiet. I know that she had a thing for Martin. I thought that it was over, maybe I'm wrong. She waves to Vivian and Elena before her eyes fall on Jack, still on the phone in his office. Is that longing in her eyes? Jack and Sam had had an affair. I'm not sure if Jack ever knew about Martin and Sam, not that it's really any of his business. Or mine, for that matter.

I smile as her gaze shifts to me. Like the last few days she makes her way over to my desk. I know what is on her mind. I know what she's going to say before she even says it.

"Morning, Danny," she says in a quiet voice. "How is Martin?"

"He's fine, Sam, just like he was yesterday," I reply. It's the same question day after day. Why she won't go to the hospital and see him herself, I don't understand.

She makes her way to her desk. "Thanks."

I swivel around in my chair to face her. "Some good news, he'll be getting out tonight."

"Oh, that is good," she says. Then she turns her back on me to start her work. I'm not surprised; everything about Sam has been off.

Jack comes out of his office and work starts. The day is a busy one as we track down a missing drug dealer. The poor bastard got kidnapped by one of his own clients who was hyped up on Ecstasy. Half way through the day Jack directed Sam and Vivian to another case. Vivian probably did all the work herself, at least all the interviewing. Both cases turn out well in the end either way. At the end of the day Jack takes Vivian into his office and seemingly yells at her. I look at Elena who just shrugs her shoulders. Neither one of us knows what's going on. Meanwhile, Sam is off in her own little world. I feel guilty about not helping her to feel better. But someone has to be there for Martin and I'm the only one who is. Vivian has a family of her own and Elena, well, she doesn't know Martin that well.

I drive to the hospital to pick up Martin. He was technically released earlier in the day. The hospital let him stay until I could pick him up after hours. They never ask questions when it comes to the FBI. No one really does. I find him sitting in his room.

"Nice wheels," I say when I see his wheelchair.

He grimaces. "Don't remind me. This thing is so damn uncomfortable."

The doctor comes into the room before I can think up any old man jokes. He introduces himself, even though I already know who he is. I visit the hospital nearly every day. Perhaps the doctor sees so many people that he never remembers them.

"Mr. Taylor, will you be the one watching over Martin?" He asks.

"Watching over?" I echo.

"Yes, Martin will be in that wheelchair for about two weeks. Then he'll have his first physical therapy session and things will go from there," the doctor explains. "He is allowed to move around but I don't want him walking more than an hour every day. The wound is still fresh. The skin needs more time to strength. Too much exercise could reverse the healing."

I look at Martin. "Looks like you're staying at my place for a while. Think you can handle that?"

"As long as you don't leave your underwear all over the place."

I pat him on the shoulder. "I think we'll be alright, doc."

He smiles half-heartedly. "Now Martin, I want to see you at the end of the week. So take care of yourself."

A few more instructions and we're out the door. Martin is quiet until we reach my car. I open the passenger door and look at him. The thought of lifting him into the car crosses my mind. Martin has other ideas. He stumbles from the wheelchair into the leather seat and closes the door. It takes me a minute or two to fold up the wheelchair and place it in the trunk. Martin doesn't talk on the way to my place so I tell him about work. I fill him in on Jack's family life; Vivian's heart condition; Elena trying to teach Sam how to speak Spanish; and some of the cases we've worked. I make sure to leave out that Sam is acting weird. That and the fact that a numb feeling has filled my body since that fateful day.

As we ride the elevator to my apartment I think about the hospital and the things I said to Martin. Friendships blossom into romances all the time. Why is this any different? Is it because Martin and I are guys? That doesn't bother me. I've always known that both sexes are attractive. Could it be because of Sam and her feelings? Or is it the fear of others finding out and not being supportive?

"What do you want for dinner?" I ask Martin as I unlock the door to my place.

"Nothing, I don't feel like eating," he says wheeling himself in.

I follow him, closing and locking the door behind us. "You have to eat, the doctor said so. It'll help your body heal."

He shakes his head. "I'm not hungry. I just want to sleep. Is that okay?"

"Of course," I reply. "Why don't you sleep in my bed, I'll take the couch. Tomorrow we can pick up few of your things."

"I'm not going to stay here, Danny. I can take care of myself," he remarks. "I'm not a baby. I'm a full grown adult."

"You're staying here. I told the doctor I'd watch over you and I'm keeping my word. I'll send you to stay with Jack if you keep it up," I threaten.

He looks at the floor, his hands in his lap. "Fine, whatever. But don't treat me like a fucking kid. You can still go to work during the day. No reason for the two of us to be gone. Jack needs you."

"He needs you too, Martin. That's why you need to get better. The office isn't the same without you. I can actually see your desk it's so clean," I smile.

He plucks a pillow from the couch beside him and throws it at me. We laugh as it falls short and lands at my feet. That's the Martin I know and love. The life-loving young man. Not the wheelchair bound depressive. He yawns and stretches his arms above his head. The stretch brings a flash of pain across his face. The good mood is shattered.

"You should be getting to bed," I say. He nods in agreement. "You want me to help you?"

"No," I think I can handle it."

"Well, if you do need help just yell. I'll be out here."

He nods as he wheels himself off. The door to my bedroom closes and I sit on the couch. Hours pass before I finally curl up to sleep away what's left of the night. Tomorrow is another day. Another day that Martin won't learn about my true feelings. Even though he's sleeping just a few feet away, in my bed. I hug a pillow to my chest. Martin is sleeping in my bed. It's like one of my dreams, only I'm not with him. I'm sleeping on the couch. Will I always be sleeping on the couch? Tomorrow is another day….


	5. Finding you Gone

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Martin

**

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**Chapter Four: Finding You Gone**

Danny is gone when I get up in the morning. I can't believe that he actually went to work. But it's what I want. I need to be alone. Sure, I spent a lot of time alone while I was in the hospital. How was I to think with doctors, nurses, and beeping machines around me? Danny's apartment is quiet and his bed is comfortable.

I roll over. The wheelchair sits beside the bed. I can't believe I'm stuck in the damn thing. My near fatal wound had healed. I had been discharged from the hospital. Doesn't that mean that I'm fine? A smile forms on my face as I sit up in bed. I'm not supposed to walk around. With Danny at work who will see me? I can walk around all day and when Danny comes home I can pretend I've spent the entire day in my wheelchair. He'll never know. For good measures I'll sit in the damn thing through the lunch hour, just in case Danny decides to come home to check-up on me.

I stand and take a few steps. The pain is nearly too much. I can feel the skin moving and straining. I fall into the wheelchair. The pain dulls but only a little. Sitting on the bedside table are my pills. I pop the top and down a pill. Then I think better of it and take another one. If one pill works fast, two pills should work even faster.

An hour passes before the boredom sets in and I find myself yearning for something to actually do. I've already flipped through the channels on the TV. Nothing is on. None of the books on the shelves seem interesting. The movies, I've seen them all. I feel dirty and grubby. Probably because I haven't showered since the accident. Sponge baths are not worth the humiliation. The doctor said I couldn't shower because I'd be standing too long. It would be too much a risk. That left me with the choice of taking a bath. I can't even remember the last time I took a bath. Not that I could bath anyway. The only clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing.

The clock chimes the hour. It's only ten in the morning. That gives me two hours to get to my apartment and back before Danny goes on lunch. I wheel out of the apartment and make sure to lock the door behind me. Danny gave me a key to his place month ago. Told me to drop by any time I wanted to. After the little confession in the hospital the other night, I guess I know why now.

Lucky for me more than half the apartments in the city have elevators. Too bad the elevator in this particular building smells like burned cheese. Just one of the many joys in sharing a building with so many other people. I curse the hospital for giving me an outdated wheelchair as I wheel myself down the sidewalk. How do wheelchair-bound people do this day after day? Half-way to my apartment I stop to catch my breath. Never try to wheel your way through busy city sidewalks. Very few people take notice of you. Those who do look at you like you're a freak. What's worse is when they look at you with pity. Who are they to pity me? The damn wheelchair is just a setback. I'll be back in the field in no time. They can't pity and FBI agent. I put my life on the line to make their nation a safer place to live.

A man bumps into me and the chair is shoved into a wall. "Stupid cripple," I hear the man curse as he stomps away. I bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. How rude can people be? I rub my knee where it hit the stone wall.

"Jerk," I mutter.

The other people keep going, taking no notice of me or of the incident. No wonder why people went missing in this city. Everyone is too busy to notice the little things in the world that go on around them. If it doesn't involve them, why should they care? While stopped at a red light a car goes speeding by. He hits the puddle near the curb. All the people who had been standing in front of me conveniently move out the way. My clothes get soaked and I hear a few people giggle.

Three blocks from my own place and I lose my nerve. I've been soaked, pushed, overlooked, and even had someone throw their trash at me. I look at my watch. It's already two-thirty in the afternoon. So much for being quick. I never thought to take into account all the breaks I would have to take due to exhaustion. A gust of wind sweeps through the area; it's cold and causes me to shiver. How can I be so dumb? My healed wound feels like fire. I left my pain pills back at Danny's place. I pat down my pockets, seems I left my cell phone in the same place.

"What a great fucking day," I mutter to myself.

At least I have change for the payphone at the corner gas station. I stand to put the change in and punch in the number that I memorized years ago. The phone rings and rings, making me feel like no one is going to pick up the other end. I hear a click as they finally pick up.

"Danny?"

I never thought I'd be so happy to hear his voice. "Uh, hey," is all I say.

"Martin, where the hell are you? I stopped by to check on you during lunch," he says. I knew he would. I was supposed to be back before than. "I've been worried about you. Hell, Jack was going to give you another hour and call the cops if we hadn't heard from you."

"Don't you think calling the cops is a little too much?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Come on, in our line of work you can never be too safe. We make enemies every day. A pissed off killer could have taken the opportunity to kidnap you. Now where are you?"

"I just wanted to get some things from my place, that's all," I say before I give him the address for the gas station.

He tells me to stay put, that he's on his way to get me. Where am I going to go? The sun sets earlier these days. It's only a matter of time before the first snow fall. I shiver involuntarily. I'm cold. I'm sore. And I'm feeling lower than I ever have before. I can't wait to get dried off and somewhere warm. I wait for what feels like forever. A group of kids in baggy pants and shirts in sizes too large hang-out near the edge of the gas station. Every few seconds they glance over at me. They must decide on a course of action because they start to head my way.

"Hey, pops, can we borrow your wheels?" One of them yells.

A black SUV with government plates pulls into the gas station. The tallest of the punks makes a shooting motion at me with his fingers. Just a bunch of stupid juvenile punks that they're cool. I've seen too many of them in my job.

"Something we can do for you guys?" Danny asks as he steps out of the SUV. The gun on his hip is clearly visible.

The punks stop in their tracks, some of them turn around. "We were just trying to help a guy out, that's all," the tall one says.

"Sure," Danny drawls. "Good thing you didn't pull a real gun on my partner here. The FBI doesn't take gun-play too lightly." He turns his attention to me. "Come on, Martin, let's get you back home."

The punks hightail it out of the parking lot. Danny assists me with getting into the car and puts my wheelchair in the backseat. I explain to him why I left. He says he understands but wishes that I had called him instead. He would have taken me over to my place. We head that way now. He tells me to stay in the car, I insist on going up to pick out what I want. After five minutes of arguing he finally relents and lets me go up too. It's nice to see my place, untidy as usual. The ride back to his place is quiet. I'm afraid to say anything. Danny is being so nice to help me out and all I'm doing is causing him problems.

Back at his place we split ways. He goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I head for the shower I've been waiting to take all day. By now it's only four-ten in the afternoon. Jack must have given him the rest of the day off. I wheel myself into the bathroom and close the door. Gingerly I remove my clothes. The wound on my lower abdomen, above my right leg, is red and ugly. I start the water and wait a few minutes for it to warm-up before I limp into the shower.

The water feels pleasant on my skin. I can feel the chill leaving my body. A shock of pain courses through my body. I'd been so eager to take my shower that I had forgotten to take my pain medication. My nerves work overtime and the pain is almost numbing. I slip and fall in the slickness.

"Shit," I yell as my head hits the wall.

There's a knock at the bathroom door. "Martin, are you alright?"

I weigh my options. I can either tell him I'm fine and try to stand, dry off, and get dressed by myself. Or, I can tell him I need help and he can see me in my birthday suit; which, in the long run, would be embarrassing. I sigh. It's time to let go of any pride I have left. The time has come for me to admit that I need help.

"Martin?"

"I fell and hit my head."

"Do you need some help?" He asks.

"That would be nice," I say as I try to stand on my own.

Danny opens the door. He helps me from the shower and to dry off. Not once does he appear uncomfortable in helping me; while I feel a tad ashamed. He leaves me to dress myself, which I do without a problem. I wheel into the bedroom to take a pain pill. I can hear him fussing around in the kitchen and smell dinner. I look around his bedroom. This is the home of a man who hated me when I first started work. The same man is now my closest friend; a friend I would never want to lose. He confessed a secret to me, a secret of his love. Why doesn't that fact bother me? Could it be that I feel the same?


	6. Looking for Tomorrow

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Danny

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**Chapter Five: Looking for Tomorrow**

"Did you find Martin yesterday?" Jack asks as he stops by my desk early the next morning.

"Yes, sir, I did," I reply. "He wanted to go home. Last I saw him this morning he was sound a sleep in my bed." Jack raises an eyebrow. "I've been sleeping on the couch. I figured it would be more comfortable for him to sleep on an actual bed." Jack just kept looking at me. "Would you stop staring at me like that?"

"You'll be filling out some paperwork today. I need files sorted," Jack says.

"And? What are Elena and Sam doing?" I'm really not in the mood to do paperwork. I like being out in the field. It's very justifying work to locate missing people and put criminals behind bars.

"They're tracking down a missing school teacher," he replies nonchalantly. I give him a quizzical look. He holds up his hands in defense. "I don't need three agents working one case. It's not high-profile. I believe the girls can handle it."

"Where's Vivian? Can't she do the paperwork?"

"Nope, she's at home. She called in this morning. Her son was sick through the night and he still wasn't feeling well this morning. Viv is going to take him to the doctor," Jack answered.

I sigh. "So I get desk duty."

Jack sits on the edge of my desk. "Look, Danny, I don't want you to think I'm ignoring you. I have very little pull right now. I need to be careful. And so do you."

I don't like the ominous tone in his voice. And did he just threaten me? "Please, don't make me read between the lines. What is it that you're not saying?"

Jack took a quick glance around the office before he answered. "Mr. Fitzgerald isn't happy. Seems he talked with Martin sometime yesterday or very early this morning. Martin won't come home for treatment and that angers his father. When Mr. Fitzgerald found out that Martin is staying with you he paid me a visit."

"He didn't yell at you again, did he? Because just like the shooting, this isn't your fault," I interrupted.

He shakes his head. "He pretty much said that you're 'on-call' all day and every day until Martin is back at work. If Martin calls you because he needs something, Mr. Fitzgerald expects you to run to his aid."

I roll my eyes. "I plan on helping Martin with or without his father's permission. Martin is my closest friend."

We make polite chitchat for a few more minutes. Then Jack leaves me to my work. Sorting files is a slow boring job. I have to go through each file to make sure everything is in order. If something has changed since the file was created then I have to fill out more paperwork. I got through cases of abduction and runaways. There are even cases of hostages and slave trades. Humans are amazingly cruel to one another. Every little thing can provoke s person to commit a crime. And some crimes are down right vicious.

Take the case of Lily Taylor. A thirteen-year-old stolen from her bed in the middle of the night and her parents had been the prime suspects. The family was blue-collar and they had no enemies to speak of. Who would want their little girl? We found her four days after she went missing. This case had turned out wrong. We try to return them home alive and well. That was not to be. Someone had it in for the family. They sexually assaulted and then strangled the young girl. Her seventeen-year-old brother came forward and confessed to the crime two hours after the body was found. He was tired of the family playing favorites. Lily got away with everything because she had a higher IQ than her brother. A typical family with a dark secret that they weren't ready to admit. Now one child is gone and the other is in jail.

My lunch hour comes and goes with me still sitting at my desk. Martin doesn't call at all. He must be coping well today. The girls return from their case around quieting time. I overhear them discussing the missing teacher and how she ran away from her abusive husband. I don't blame her for wanting to leave. I was raised to never hit a woman. My parents were firm believers that marriage was a partnership; I feel the same.

The drive is quiet and uneventful as I make my way home. Thoughts of Martin have been at the back of my mind all day. He never once called. Part of me fears that he may have repeated yesterday's actions. The apartment is dark when I open the door. There's no sound.

"Martin?" I close the door behind me. He doesn't answer. "Martin, are you here?"

A moan comes from the bedroom.

I smile. "No wonder why you didn't answer, you must be sleeping."

A few steps away from the kitchen the nagging feeling begins. Dread settles on my shoulders and the intense urge to check on Martin takes over. I turn to make my way to the bedroom. The door is open a crack and the slight glow of the bedside lamp tries to reach out. Hesitantly I push the door open. Martin lies on the bed, eyes closed. From this distance he looks fine. That is, until I notice the way he's shivering and the slight sheen of sweat on his body.

"Martin." I say his name loud hoping it will wake him up. He doesn't open his eyes.

I got to the bed and gently shake him. There's still no response. My hands find the pulse on his neck, giving me little reassurance that things are fine. I place a hand over his forehead. He's burning up. I grab the phone on the bedside table and call for an ambulance. The emergency operator on the other end of the phone tells me to wrap him in blankets and give him some aspirin. She says it'll break the fever and that he'll be fine. Only after I tell her that Martin is an FBI agent getting over a gunshot wound and that he won't wake up does she take the call more seriously. She sends the ambulance and I hang up the phone.

I wrap Martin in the blanket that's folded at the foot of the bed. Then I open the apartment door to give the paramedics one less obstacle. The phone starts to ring shrilly. I argue with myself over whether or not I should answer. It could be my brother calling to chat about his business or it could be Martin's dad calling to check up on him. The chance to answer the phone never comes because the paramedics show before I can make a choice. What should have been a night of talk and TV and dinner is now a night of questions and worry.


	7. Racing Through the Red

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Danny

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**Chapter Six: Racing Through the Red**

I pace back and forth in the waiting room. It's been more than an hour since I brought Martin in and I haven't heard anything. They always say that no news is good news, how can that be? If they can't tell me any news because they're too busy than things can't be that good, can they? I chew my bottom lip nervously as I finally sit in one of the many chairs. The blond wood of the arms are scratched and scarred, there's very little padding left in the seat. All around me nurses go to and fro with clipboards in their hands. Other people wait, either for help with their own injuries or to hear about a loved one. I feel a few eyes watch me as I get up to pace again.

"What's wrong with you man? You got ants in your pants? Why don't you just sit your ass down," a teenage boy dressed in gang clothes says.

I give him a cold look. He just shrugs it off. I continue to pace. I feel like this is my fault. I should have been home to watch over him. How can I be so irresponsible? I only hope that his father doesn't hear about this. I really don't need to get yelled at, and what if he decides to shift the blame from Jack to me? What if he sees the shooting as my fault? I don't want to lose my job.

"Dude, don't make me force you into your chair," the punk pipes up again.

I clench my fists in anger. I don't like that my worry for Martin is taking a turn toward anger over this worthless kid. Thoughts of threatening the teenager, showing him my badge, or even flashing my gun all race through my mind. It's amazing how emotions can take over your personality and the way you handle situations.

"Danny, what the hell is going on?" Jack's voice cuts through my muddled thoughts. I turn to look at him.

"Why are you here?" I voice my newest thought. I didn't call him. I hadn't called anyone to talk about Martin. Maybe because I didn't want them to know. Now Jack probably things I can't handle Martin's healing.

He stops beside me. "I overheard a radio transmission. Is he okay?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything. They haven't said anything to me. I swear, they have this sick obsession for dramatic airs around here." I drop into the chair beside the punk, exhaustion finally getting the best of me.

"That so hard man?" The punk asks giving me an odd look.

"New friend of yours?" Jack questions with a raised eyebrow.

I lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my chin in my hands. "I don't make friends with punk-ass kids, Jack."

The kid gives a snort of disapproval as he shifts his position. Jack takes a look at his watch. He asks me how long I've been waiting and I tell him. The look on his face tells me that he's not too happy. He tells me to stay in my seat and walks over to the nurse's station. After a few minutes he disappears around a corner and reappears alone. Under his breath I hear the teenager making remarks about impatient guys in suits. Another ten minutes go by before the doctor in his white lab coat makes it over to us.

"Agent Taylor, Agent Malone," he acknowledges.

I stand. The teenager shifts uneasily in his chair and looks about all nervous like. Probably has drugs on him or something. I don't care. Though there is a small bit of pride at seeing him squirm.

"How is Agent Fitzgerald?" Jack asks.

The doctor flips through the pages on his clipboard before offering any sort of answer. "I see here that Agent Fitzgerald is getting over a gunshot wound." Jack and I both nod to confirm what he's reading. "Who has been taking care of Martin?"

"He's been staying at my place," I speak up. "He won't let me take time off, says he can take care of himself and that the department can't handle losing another agent."

The doctor smiles. "Martin is a good man. I'm glad I don't see him in here that much. That goes for the two of you also. You guys do good work." I feel myself getting antsy with the idle chitchat. "Now, Danny, I need to ask you a few more questions. I'm afraid the paramedics have been busy with a pile-up, ten cars, can you believe that?"

I shake my head. "What questions?"

"Well, how was Martin when you found him? Was he responding to noises around him? Did he have an unusually quick pulse? Anything like that," the doctor suggests.

I let myself think back to about an hour and half ago. "He didn't respond to me when I said his name. I think he was pretty far out of it by the time I got home. I'll admit that I didn't check his pulse. I could tell he was breathing and I was worried about why he wouldn't wake up."

"Has Martin been acting weird since he got discharged from the hospital for his gunshot wound?"

I look at Jack who shrugs in return; he wouldn't know. "Not that I've noticed. He's not too happy about the wheelchair and not being able to work. Aside from that he's been as good as one can expect. Why do you ask? You make it sound like he did this to himself."

The doctor looks around the waiting room. Eyes shift away from us. Everyone had been listening intently to the conversation. The fact that we are Federal Agents got them hoping for some sort of gruesome details about a crime. Humans are curious creatures, sometimes they're too curious. The doctor motions for us to follow him to a more private area. Once inside an empty room he resumes the conversation.

"Martin has a high dose of medication in his system." He holds up a hand. "Now, I'm not saying that he tried to overdose on the pain medication that we prescribed him. Though it does bother me to see such high levels of the drug in his system, I must say that whatever was going on in Martin's mind helped him in the long run."

"What do you mean?" Jack inquires.

"The high dose of pain medication aggravated a growing infection around the healing wound. An infection that would have eventually found its way into the bloodstream. It's a good thing you brought him in when you did, Danny. There were no outward signs of the infection and it would have gone untreated, thus possibly causing Martin to suffer from Septicemia and eventually he'd have gone into Septic Shock."

My heart momentarily stops as those words leave the doctor's mouth. Septicemia is bacteria in the bloodstream. It rapidly deteriorates into Septic Shock and most people don't survive it; which is completely understandable. Septic Shock causes low blood pressure and low blood flow. I shiver. When I found Martin he had some of the symptoms of Septicemia; a spiking fever, the chills, and unresponsiveness. That's why the doctor asked about his pulse, respiratory rate goes up with Septicemia.

"Is he going to be okay?" Jack asks when I don't say anything after a few minutes. I really don't know what to say at this point.

The doctor smiles. "Martin got here before the infection reached his bloodstream. There are no signs of him having Septicemia. We have put him on antibiotics and we'd like to keep him here overnight, just to make sure things go okay," he explains.

I nod. "So it's just a minor setback?"

"Yes. If he makes it through the night without any other complications we will be discharging him tomorrow afternoon. I suggest that he continue to take antibiotics for a week and come back for a follow-up visit, just to be on the safe side."

I relax as the doctor continues to talk with Jack. When the doctor leaves us Jack mentions something about having to make an important phone call. He exits the room and I find myself alone. I sit on the empty bed in the now silent room. I'm grateful that I got home from work when I did, yet, I'm mad that I wasn't home to watch over him. What if I had to work overtime? Martin would have gotten sicker. I shake my head to clear away the unpleasant thoughts. There have been too many close calls lately. I nearly lost him to the bullet, then I had to agonize while he was on the operating table, now the infection; will things ever get better for Martin?

And what about the medication? The doctor suspects that Martin tried to overdose. That doesn't seem like something my friend would do, maybe I don't know him as well as I though. Who really knows anyone? I try to remember back, to see if I noticed the bottle of pills. There's nothing there, though. All I see is Martin sick, and I hope I never have to see that again.


	8. Inside Myself

**Title: **Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, violence, and angst.

**POV: **Martin

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**Chapter Seven: Inside Myself**

_Two days later…._

I drop the remote on the couch. Nothing is ever on TV during the day. Usually this wouldn't bother me because I would be working. Working, ah, sweet relief from boredom. Never in my life did I think I would miss my job so much. Not the way that I do. I miss running around after the bad guys and holding my gun at them. I miss that rush of joy at finding the missing person alive and returning them to their loved ones. Most of all I find myself missing my co-workers. There's always something to be talked about while at work. Whether it be about Vivian's son, Jack's daughter, or even Danny's brother. I miss it all. Staying home all day by myself gives me too much time to think. Is it weird to want to turn off your brain?

The clock chimes the hour; it's ten in the morning and I've nothing to do but take my medication. Sitting on the coffee table are two bottles of pills. One of them is nearly empty, that would be my pain medication. The other one is still very full, the antibiotics to keep away the infections. I wonder what my father would have done if I died from an infection because the hospital neglected their job? I sigh. Not a good thing to even think about, never mind wanting to see. My father can be such a pain in the ass.

With gentle movements I manage to sit up on the couch. The pain in my abdomen is duller than it has been since I got shot. I still take the pill. I chase it down with one of the antibiotics. On a complete whim I take a sleeping pill too. Maybe I can sleep away the boringness of the day. Time always passes fast when I'm sleeping. With a swig of water I lie back down on the couch and wait for the pills to do there stuff. In minutes I feel myself drifting off into the land of dreams.

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"Martin, wake up." The voice breaks into the darkness of my sleep clogged mind. I try to push it away. I'm probably just dreaming again, dreaming away the dreary day. "Martin, get the hell up," someone yells. I feel a strong hand grab my shoulder and pull me into a sitting position. I feel like someone lights a fire in my body. My eyes pop open. Danny is standing before me, between the table and the couch. I shove his hand away from my shoulder before placing the other one over my painful wound.

"It's nice to see that you're home, Danny, but that hurt. Talk about a rude awakening," I mumble in a sleepy voice.

"A rude awakening? You want to know who's had a rude awakening?" His voice is high. Why is he yelling?

"What are you talking about? You aren't making any sense." I feel the sleep leaving my body quickly. This is a time to pay attention. Something has gotten under Danny's skin and apparently it's my fault.

He grabs the bottle of my pain pills off the table. "I can't believe the doctor was right about you, Martin. You can't be doing this to yourself. To your friends."

"Doing what?" I ask innocently.

His eyes burn with anger. "Last night there were ten pills in this bottle. Now there's only seven. I'm sure you didn't need three pills today. You're only supposed to be taking one." He throws the bottle at me. It lands on my lap. He grabs the other bottle. "You've already taken five of these in two days. And this bottle is nearly empty," he remarks as he grabs the bottle of sleeping pills.

"You're wrong."

He shakes his head. "Don't deny it, Martin. I checked each of the bottles just last night while you were sleeping. I wanted to prove the doctor wrong. Turns out I was the wrong one. How can you do this?"

"You don't understand," I say standing from the couch. Danny is now pacing on the opposite side of the table.

"What is there to understand? I thought that I knew you, Martin. I can't believe that this is happening."

"They keep the pain away, Danny. And I'm in so much pain. I don't like feeling the pain," I plead my case.

He glares at me in disbelief. "Pain? You do it because of pain and I don't understand that? What the hell? You know that I used to drink away my pain. I fought my alcohol problem and my brother fought through drug abuse. I never in my life thought I would be standing here having to talk to you like this." He's nearly yelling now.

"It's not your problem," I mutter.

"Not my problem? Damn it, Martin, you're my friend; I can't watch you fall apart like this. I refuse to lose you to this addiction. Ask me for help. Tell me that you don't want these pills." Now his voice is pleading.

My shoulders slump. "Alright, I admit, I'm addicted to the pills. I enjoy the feeling they give me. They take me away from what has become a place of hell to me. I'm tired of sitting him day in and day out trying to feel useful. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I'd died on the operating table. Is that what you want to hear?"

He comes over to my side and places his hands on my shoulders. I try hard to meet his gaze. "Martin, I understand your need to feel useful. I understand the feeling of wanting to run away from your problems. Trust me; this is not the way to do it. You have to stop this, Martin. If you don't, Jack will find out. It's not something you can hide forever. And you know that when he finds out you'll be out of a job. Do you want that to happen?" I shake my head. "Then stop, Martin. Don't take the pills anymore."

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. If I blink I know that they will start falling. Yet I can't stop them. "I wish I could stop," I say in a quivering voice.

"You can stop," Danny says in a softer voice. "You need to stop before it kills you."

The tears are tired of waiting and they begin to fall, leaving wet tracks on my cheeks. Danny pulls me close to him and embraces me in a hug. His arms are strong, giving me some comfort. No one has held me since my relationship with Sam. The thought of Samantha and our doomed relationship depresses me even more. In my mind I thought we were doing fine. Sure, I wasn't spreading the word around the office. Why should I? Samantha had already had an affair with my boss. People would think lowly of her and I never wanted that. As much as I tried to keep the relationship quiet people still found out. Jack amazingly wished us happiness and Danny had acted like a high school boy when he found out.

After Sam got tired of my refusing to be public with our relationship she decided to leave me. I can't remember if she visited me in the hospital after I got shot. If she did, it was when I was unconscious. I do know that I haven't seen her since that day. Danny doesn't talk about her when he comes home at night. Maybe he's afraid my heart hasn't healed. Or maybe he doesn't want me to think about her.

"We'll beat this, Martin", I hear Danny whisper in my ear. I never thought that love would come my way again. After Sam I figured I would just concentrate on my job. If I can't make my dad happy with grandchildren I can at least make him proud of his professional son. Now, standing in this quiet living room with Danny's arms around me, I begin to wonder. Maybe I can still fall in love. Maybe there is still a chance for some happiness. Life just feels right with Danny's arms around me.


	9. Lost in the Fog

**Title:** Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.

**POV: **Martin

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Chapter Eight: Lost in the Fog

_Three weeks later…_

I stand on the first floor in front of the elevator. The day has finally come for me to return to work. It's been so long since I've set foot inside this building. For weeks it has been the only thing I've wanted to do. Now that the time is here I feel a smidge of apprehension. How will the others react to having me back at work? They've probably got a real great thing going. What if my returning to work screws up their flow? Jack will enjoy having his team back in full. Danny hasn't missed me at work because we've seen each other everyday afterward. Will Sam talk to me? Will Vivian be happy to see me return? And what about the new girl; she was due to start in four months but then I got taken out and Vivian had health problems. Jack jumped on the chance to hire her early to take up some of the slack. What if she doesn't like me?

It's now or never. I push the button with the arrow pointing up. The pace of my heartbeat quickens. The only sound in the elevator is the piano dominated elevator music; it's enough to cover up my breathing. This has been my place of work for so many years. Do I have a right to be this nervous? This reminds me of my first day with the team. They all gave me the cold shoulder. That was their idea of an initiation. Lucky for me it only lasted for two days before Danny started taking a liking to me. The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open with a swish.

The floor is busy as is usual. Someone is always going missing. At least we don't have to cover every single missing person. Sure, we get the details and try helping other states track down their missing people, but we go on-location very rarely. Danny had gone to Mexico with Jack not too long ago, and Jack had been to Japan.

I step off the elevator with the help of the cane my physical therapist gave me. The day I got rid of the wheelchair had been a happy day. It gave me one less step until I got to work. Now here I am at work and I feel like I want to go home. These people are my friends. They won't treat me any different. Will they? There's only one way to find out.

"Morning, Martin," Danny greets me. He falls into step beside me.

"Shouldn't you be working?" I ask him out of sheer curiosity.

He flashes a smile. "I should be but I thought I'd walk in with you. Call it friendly intuition, I figured you'd be a little on the nervous side."

I do my best to return his smile. "I think we've been spending too much time together, Danny-boy. Tell me, what is Elena like? You talk about her at home so rarely I don't know what to expect."

"She's an interesting woman. She's of Hispanic decent and talks with an accent, unlike yours truly," he explains. "She's really getting along with Sam and Jack. I'm not sure if Vivian really likes her though they do tolerate each other. You do realize that with the hiring of Elena us guys no longer out number the women."

I stop in my tracks. We're just a few feet from the desks. The fact that I haven't seen these people in months is causing me to worry. Why is it so hard to fall back into old routines? It's time to steel my spine and get this over with. I chase the doubting thoughts from my mind. Danny gives me one last pat on the back before he heads for his desk. I step into the room after him.

I'm not swarmed by my co-workers. In fact, none of them really seem to take notice. As nervous and as apprehensive as I am that still hurts a little. I've been gone for so long you'd think someone would have missed me. I make my way over to my desk and sit in my old familiar chair, leaning my cane against the desk.

"Hey, Martin, glad to see that your back. Finally, someone can pick up the slack around here," Jack says as he perches on the edge of my desk. "These guys just can't cut it."

Danny laughs. "We're too busy taking care of you, Jack."

He smiles. "Seriously, Martin, it's great to have you back at work. We all missed you. I hope you're up for working hard because I'm not going to baby you. I don't care what your dad says."

I grimace. "I really wish he would stay out of my life."

"I hope my son never says that about me," Vivian says as she walks in on the conversation. "Nice to see you again, Marty." I give her a wave and a smile.

"You can all welcome Martin back and catch up but remember, this is a place of work. I expect you guys to be professional. This isn't high school," Jack says before he leaves.

The day progresses on without any problems. I meet Elena and we do the proper introductions. Danny is right; she does have a heavy accent. Sam says hi to me and that's all she says before making herself busy for the rest of the day. A young college student goes missing and Jack sends Vivian out with Danny to see what can be made of it. Meanwhile Jack makes sure to keep me busy. Probably trying to make it seem like they still need me, or he's just trying to keep me busy so I won't have thoughts of that fateful day. Around lunch time I get up to go to the bathroom. When I come back out I find Sam waiting for me.

"Martin, I'm sorry that I haven't been to see you," she says. "I've been asking Danny about you every day."

"Good for you," I reply.

A flash of pain crosses her face. "I missed you. I was so afraid that I would lose you; it kept me from wanting to see you. That's not an excuse and I'm not trying to make one."

"Don't worry about it, Sam."

She steps up closer to me and places a hand on my shoulder. "I don't want to live without you, Marty." She leans in to kiss me and I turn my head to the side. Her lips fall on my cheek.

She backs up with a look of questioning on her face. There's nothing for me to say to her so I walk around her to make my way back to my desk. On my way I pass by Danny, who has returned from the field. I notice the odd look he gives me as he sees Sam left standing behind. The entire time in that wheelchair I thought about Sam and how it would be returning to work with her. I thought I missed her. I thought I wanted to be with her again. But now my feelings have changed. Sam isn't the one I want anymore. As I sit at my desk and pop a pain pill- the bottle has been hiding in my suit jacket pocket- I think about all the time I've been spending with Danny. I think about the things he said to me in the hospital. Is it possible that I feel the same way about him? If I had never been shot none of this would be a problem. Sam and I would continue to share a mutual friendship and Danny would still be my best friend. Why does life have to be so complicated?


	10. A Gamble

**Title:** Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.

**POV: **Danny

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Chapter Nine: A Gamble

Jack hands me an assignment for the day. He gives me permission to take Martin out in the field with me. I smile inside at the thought of spending more time with Martin. He's been back at work for two days now. Things between the team have been a little rocky. The others have been treating him like he's a fragile piece of glass. Every time Sam talks to him he falls into a pit of depression. I've been dying to ask him what's going on.

I catch Martin as he's coming and surprise him with the task at hand. I honestly believe that a day out of the office will do him good. Maybe if he can prove to the others that he can do his job they'll stop treating him like a breakable object. As we hop into the company car I see him bit his bottom lip.

"You okay, Marty?" I question as he starts to sweat. I put a hand on his shoulder. Of course, he's having a panic attack. The last time he was in a car like this he nearly lost his life. "Take a deep breath, it'll be okay. We're just driving to a house in a typical neighborhood. Nothing to worry about."

He flashes me an encouraging smiling. "I just need to face my fears. It's the only way to get over it, right?"

"Right and we'll be fine. We're just checking up on a missing teenager. No politics involved," I say starting the car.

Martin is quiet the entire ride to the scene. I can tell that his mind is replaying the night of the shooting by the way his hands shake and how he leans his head back with his eyes closed. There's no reason to blame him. That night has played out in my mind nearly every night. I don't fear the return of the memories; I spend the time trying to think of how I could have made it different. Than there's the guilt. The guilt of Martin closing in on death while I sustain a concussion and some bruises. Doesn't seem fair, does it?

"What are you thinking about?" Martin finally asks as we pull up to the curb.

"Nothing really important," I reply. What I really want to tell him is that I'm thinking of him. I'm always thinking about him.

"Oh," he sighs. "I've been thinking that I'm not ready for this, I'm not ready to work in the field again."

"Sure you are," I encourage. "You can't let your wound haunt you for the rest of your life."

He must agree with me in silence for he climbs out of the car and follows me toward the house. The place is a small one-story white brick home with a covered porch. Rose bushes grow the length of the cement walkway. A tan mini-van sits in front of a one car garage. The place looks normal and well lived-in. A basketball net rests beside on the ground beside the driveway and a dog toy rests near the front door. I give Martin one more look before knocking on the door. I fight the urge to take his hand and tell him that everything will be alright.

The door opens. A woman in her forties stares out at us. Her mouse-brown hair is up in a loose ponytail. Her clothes are a pair of old gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt proclaiming that she loves New York. She holds the door open to let us in.

"Mrs. Dolbac, I'm Special Agent Taylor and this is my partner, Special Agent Fitzgerald," I introduce. "We're here about your missing son, Ricky."

She nods. "It's nice of you to come but Ricky isn't missing. I keep telling the cops that and they don't believe me."

Martin and I follow her into the living room and seat ourselves on the couch while she sits in a Lay-z-Boy chair. "Could you please explain what you mean, Mrs. Dolbac?" Martin asks.

"Ricky isn't the best son. It's been hard raising him by myself since his father died in a fire," she starts. "Ricky was only ten when that happened. I moved us out here to get away from the memories and thought it would help make Ricky feel better. Instead he made friends with this miscreant named Sean London." I make sure to write down that name. "Sean has had a bad influence on my son. He's gotten Ricky into drinking, gambling and I even caught him stealing from me once."

"Why did you call the cops this morning?" I question.

"Well," she starts off, resting her hands in her lap, "Ricky was here when I went to bed night before last. I was awakened at about four am to hear my son talking on the phone. Not sure who he was talking to but my money is on Sean. Anyway. He kept telling the person on the other end that he'd get them the money by the end of the day. I'm ashamed to say that I went back to bed without asking him what the conversation was about."

"Does he usually get calls early in the morning?" Martin inquires. I glance his way to see him trying hard not to let his thoughts stray from the case at hand.

"If he does, I don't usually hear them. He was gone all day. When I got up this morning at seven am, he was still gone. I called the cops because I know that Ricky is in trouble. They won't do anything unless he's listed as a missing person under unusual circumstances. So I admit I lied to them. I told them that someone had broken in and that they had taken my son," she finishes.

Martin rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "You do know that lying to the cops is a crime, Mrs. Dolbac?"

She nods. Tears form in her eyes. "I'm well aware of that, Agent Fitzgerald. But my son wouldn't run away. The TV that I gave him for his birthday last year is missing from his bedroom. I think he sold it to get the money so that he could pay-off Sean. He hasn't come home or called since yesterday morning. I'm pretty sure that Sean has him holed-up somewhere and won't let him go."

I stand to signify our departure. "In cases like this the kid usually runs away from home. But since you haven't heard from and since he's in debt to someone else we'll take a closer look. My partner and I will track down Sean London and see what we can learn about your son."

We handshakes and the passing of business cards we wish Mrs. Dolbac goodbye. Outside Martin leans against the outside of the car. Sitting inside I call up headquarters and read them the description of our missing teenager. While watching Martin pace I'm hit with the sudden feeling that something bad is going to happen. That's when the call comes through about a teenage boy matching Ricky's description.

I lean out the door. "Hey, we got to go, Martin. Someone spotted our missing teen three blocks from here."


	11. Chasing After You

**Title:** Ice Forms Over

**Disclaimer: **Slash. Violence. Language. Angst.

**Author Note:** The reader's lost interest in the story. Thus, I eventually lost interest in the story. Sorry for the hasty ending.

**POV: **Danny

**

* * *

Chapter Ten: Chasing After You**

Martin jumps in the car and we're off before he can even get his seatbelt buckled. The nagging feeling is pushed to the back of my mind but doesn't fade entirely. A part of me wants to turn this car around and head back to the office. Should Martin be seeing any amount of potently dangerous action? The car flies around another corner. The buildings are mainly deserted in this area. It's odd how that works out; three blocks away people live in well-kept homes. I slow the car as more reports come over the radio. Beside me Martin fidgets with his tie. He's been doing it a lot lately. My guess is that it is his new nervous habit. I begin to heavily doubt being here with him. What if things get too tense?

"Stop." His voice is almost startling in the silence of the car. I realize that I hadn't even bothered to turn the siren on. Good thing there hadn't been any cops around.

I slow down. "What am I stopping for?"

"There was a car in the alley back there," he replies looking over his shoulder.

I stop the car. "We should call for back-up." It's a rational thought and that's the way I hope Martin takes it. Honestly, I don't want to do this with him. I'm afraid of how he'll react.

He pops open his door. "No, we can't afford to wait. Ricky may not have that extra time."

Martin is nearly back to the alley when I get out of the car and catch up with him. His hand is already resting on his gun. There's a numb feeling in the pit of my stomach. I grab Martin by the shoulder and turn him around.

"Wait."

"We can't, this kid needs our help. We may be his only chance for survival. Are you willing to deny him that?" Martin snaps.

I stop, taken aback by the tone of his voice. "Well, no, but I'm not sure you should be doing this. I mean-"

He glares at me before stomping off like a five-year-old. I grab my cell phone and quickly dial Jack. I relay the situation to him. Needless to say he's very upset and demands that I keep an eye on Martin if I can't keep him leashed. Back-up will be there as soon as possible. By the time the call is over Martin has disappeared beside one of the buildings. I make hast in the direction he headed. My gun gripped firmly in my hands.

"Martin?" I call my voice a little above a whisper.

He doesn't answer. Where the hell did he vanish too? I glance around a corner and see the car that must have caught his eye. But he's still not around. The warehouse to my left stands empty. Or so I think, until I hear the gunfire inside. My heart nearly stops as I rush to find the nearest entrance. I pray that I don't find Martin lying on the pavement like I did last time guns went off.

The door is peeling-paint red and standing ajar. I hear shouting from inside the building but the words don't register. My brain is in full panic mode and all I can think about is Martin and his safety. The case is the farthest thing from my mind. That kid just isn't as important to me as Martin.

I follow the sounds of the shouting and hear another gun go off. Some yells in pain. The sound is coming from an upstairs room. With a quiet grace I rush up the stairs. A big window allows me to peer into a large office. Martin is hiding behind a stack of crates near the door. Another man is using an ancient desk for protection. Lying on the floor nearest him is an unmoving body. A young kid, most likely Ricky and he's not moving. I take a closer look at Martin. He's bleeding from his left shoulder.

If I make an appearance in the doorway the perp will pop out from behind the desk to take a shot in my direction. But it'll give me a great shot at him. Steeling my spine I take that last step into the entrance. Just as predicted the perp spots me and takes a shot. Our guns go off at the same time. The sound is nearly deafening in the large warehouse. I watch the guy behind the desk as my bullet hits him above his right eye. That's when his bullet hits me.

I hear Martin cry out. I think he says my name but my hearing hasn't returned yet. The bullet hits me square in the chest. The force is enough to force me to take a step back. I trip over an old piece of wood. I see a horrifying look on Martin's face as he rushes toward me. He won't get to me in time. I close my eyes to keep the look on his face from being permanently etched in my mind.

My body hits the wooden railing along the outside of the small landing. The old rotten wood gives under the pressure of my body. Martin yells again. His fingers brush softly against mine as he tries desperately to grab my hand. It's hard to describe the feeling of your body falling through open air. I fall for what feels like hours. I know what lies at the bottom, waiting for me. Flashes of Martin and Jack and Sam and Vivian filter through my mind. I blackout before I hit the ground.

Someone whispers in a sorrow filled voice as a hand touches my cheek. Breathing is hard and my chest feels like it has a large hole in it. I hear the tearing of fabric and smell the blood. My blood. With the little energy I have I open my eyes to see Martin franticly putting pressure on the open wound.

He gives me a sad smile. "Lucky for you this stack of empty boxes broke your fall."

I cough as I feel the blood in my throat. "Numb…."

He cocks an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Feel…..numb."

I see the tears in his eyes. The irony isn't lost on me. The rolls are reversed but we've already been here before. Only this time I don't think the injured party is going to be living. Martin looks off in the direction of the door. For a minute the warehouse is lit by the sunlight pushing through the door. The sound of footsteps on the cement floor sound miles away. I hear Jack. Martin cries out for an ambulance, I think. My hearing is going again.

Martin looks me in the eye. "I…I overheard what you said in the hospital. Your true feelings toward me. All this time I think I've been trying to figure out where I stand and now it's all clear to me. I feel the same way, Danny. You hear me?"

I do my best to nod.

"Why did you come chasing after me?" His voice nearly breaks my heart.

"I'm….always chasing….after….you," I manage. "Someone needs…..to….keep an eye….on you." Martin stares into my eyes. I give one last coughing fit before the numbing darkness welcomes me into its embrace.

**Fin**


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